She talks to angels...

Death has touched my life many times.

I feel as though I was pretty much born into it. My father died before I was 2. In that same year, my uncle died, as well. I never knew either of them personally, but knew them in their absence. In my mother's struggle, my grandmother's tears. On father's day.
I had a grandfather. Who was one of the most incredible people I've ever met. A heart of gold and giving hands, all that cliche stuff. I lost him when I was in the third grade. It was my first real experience with death.

I used to hide in the closet sometimes after recess in 4th grade. Just to hide and cry. Obviously, I didn't deal well with it.

And since people have come and gone in my life. I find it impossible to not cry at a funeral. No matter how well I knew them. Yes, it's a part of life, but it's a sad thing.

And at the same time, I've always felt some weird connection. With life and death. And just understanding it. Sure, sometimes I'm angry at it. Think it's not fair. But never have I not understood it. Never have I questioned why it's there. I just don't have to like it...